…and Drinking Your Face Off.
Face off you say! Nicolas Cage and John Travolta you slimy bastards – how dare you create an amazing movie and make my face-off references that much more meaningful. Not to mention make me want to watch the movie and secretly hope that one of them turns into the Hulk and just yells “FACE-OFF!!!!!” ripping off faces in a fit of rage when anyone lightly caresses his face with their fingertips. But I digress…
Ahhh being mugged. And don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean that in a relaxing or reassuring way. I was mother fucked MUGGED people! By some crazy kat who probably thought he was going to hit it big. It’s a good thing I’m crazy too. Let me back it up and explain my boring story on what happened. I had just flown back from Boston to my new home San Francisco – I had all of luggage and precious cargo – my face, my buttocks, my hands, etc – and so I took the escalator out of the train station and headed for the streetz. OBSERVATION: there were 3 teenagers in front of me and two guys behind me. I saw that hailing a cab was proving difficult for the prostitutes on the street corner (FALSE – these were just people, going about their business), so I took it upon myself to utilize my shiny iPhone 5 that had a dope cover on it (bet you were expecting dope ass!). Well good luck trying to be a real person – because the minute I look at my phone I notice a man in front of me that I hadn’t before. I took one look at him and while on the phone with a cab dispatcher, that mother fucker start sprinting at me like a goddamn gazelle in the middle of a lioness hunt.
Thoughts going through my head – dude, you have a horrible haircut, omg does he have a gun? wow that jacket he’s wearing happens to be my favorite color, your eyes are like a pugs and are bulging out of your face – that’s nasty, etc.
In this moment while those thoughts were flailing through my noggin (does anyone use that anymore? I’m bringing it BACK!) this man karate chops me in the face, I fall over my luggage and he proceeds to wrestle my phone out of my hand while I continually punch him in his [dumb] head. He then succeeds in taking my phone, and runs off with it like he’s expecting me to throw a goddamn Olympic medal around his [dumb] neck. I scream “You fucking piece of shit!!!!!!!” and he gives me the finger. How humiliating.
So, while my pride, my faith in humanity and my disbelief in that man’s gross eyeballs have left me at a loss for words – I decide to move on, and do what I do best. Quit my full time job and go to Blaine’s Beauty School and cut hair!!!! Eh? Remember those killer commercials? Where they show you a picture of some girl’s hair they just cut and the decide to throw in sparkles and streaks behind them for effect like old school photo backgrounds from the 80′s?! I just had to take a deep breath – that was a lot of unexpected excitement for me. I am a product of the late 80′s.
So I didn’t actually quit my job…but I decided to take on a part-time job of DRINKING MY FACE-OFF. Ok ok, before you go being all judge-y and thinking that I in fact just publicly declared myself an alcoholic, I am actually referring to a specific week that I’ve been looking forward to for many moons.
BEER WEEK!!!!!! A week where all the hermits, hipsters, techies and self proclaimed bad-asses come together and appreciate some fine ass beer. (Disclaimer: Not actual ass beer, GROSS WHAT IS THAT, but beer that is as fine as a wonderful bottom).
So my first night of drinking consists of planning to go to 5 bars so my taste buds can have many tiny flavor orgasms while I play Big Game Hunter and shoot fake antelope and yet yell as if I am R.Kelly winning a Grammy - FINALLY people will start recognizing me outside of thinking my sheets smell like piss!!!!!!!! (they do). If you don’t get that reference, FUCK YOU. No, I didn’t mean that – watch Thrift Shop by Macklemore & Ryan Lewis or just Google R.Kelly or something. You idiot.
Ok soooooo, there are three favorite parts to my night – one was gaining up enough courage (and by courage I mean two 11% beers) to inform the awesome new people I was with that I had a knife on me and could wield it in the event of us being jumped. Later when we were walking in a straight line on the street, the guy in the back of our group yells “Don’t worry, WMF* has a knife!!!!” I give a super enthusiastic thumbs up (as I now have the hiccups) and laughter ensues. Thank you to the clever SOB who came up with thumbs up. (and thank you to myself for something I will be utilizing Wikipedia for later…)
*Wolf Master Flex – that is my name damnit. My Mom is a Wolf and my Dad is a DJ. It’s a long story.
Second part was me and my partner in crime T deciding that we were past the point of being modest. People began leaving their beers behind, some of which they took one sip of. Well when the bartender says “Sorry we JUST ran out of the beer you’ve been seeking out for a year” and someone leaves that full beer behind – not only will I drink it, I’ll SHOWER in it. I yelled to T and hand him the other glass, we triumphantly cheers and finish their beers. Fast forward to 2 bars later – we are waiting for our sausages, yes sausages! Rosamunde sausage grill – T and I go to the area where they have water and pour ourselves a glass. After pounding some water we notice a lone beer sitting there, very cold and looks to be the limited edition beer they ran out of…without speaking we take turns pouring it little by little in each of our glasses. We cheers and pound the beer, super proud of ourselves for not letting a beer go to waste. You say homeless people tendencies, I say DELICIOUS.
Third favorite part just so happens to have taken place after I’ve eaten not one, but two sausages – one of which happens to be a Vegan sausage that I remember being angry at for just how spicy it was. Angry spicy food sweats – never pretty, unless of course you are Mila Kunis eating Indian food in a white and gold sari. Sari I’m not sari. HA!
Ok so there was this chick wearing a Tiger print robe that almost hit the floor, it was epic. So epic that I felt I had to inform everyone at the table that that chick is awesome and how do I get one of those. Of course, instincts and reason step in and T yells “Hey, come here!” to the lady in the coat. She comes over and proceeds to tell us about her coat, the fact that it’s reversible and that you can wear it on your back, but not ON your back in case you start to overheat – you can just look like a poacher who murdered a Tiger, great for repelling muggers and perfect when blending into a family room with an epic fireplace. Epic used three times in a paragraph?! Who am I today? A Shakespearean Jesus?!
The last thing I remember from that night is singing at the top of my lungs with T and dancing around in his boxers while performing round house kicks in perfect rhythm to the song we were belting out.
Now if only I can remember how I got here in the first place…and for that Beer week, I thank you.